


Upon the whirl

by elentari7



Series: The first rule of flying [3]
Category: Firefly, Supernatural
Genre: Basically a road trip, IN SPACE!, if you're Dean, just with a lot of illegality and stress going on in the background, or foreground, plus the Cameo Parade of Minor Characters!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-15 03:57:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4592034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elentari7/pseuds/elentari7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>late May - July 2522, POV Dean</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Persephone

Dean is pretty sure this job is going to kill him.

Charlie hugs him. “Don’t be silly! You wouldn’t leave us. I don’t permit it.” She pulls back for a playful pout.

Gabriel laughs. “I don’t do last nights on earth, kid. In space. Whatever. Especially not for free.”

“If you die on me,” Jo says flatly, “I will resurrect you so I can kill you myself.”

“Can I have your share?” Meg asks.

Benny claps him on the shoulder. “C’mon, brother. We got a ship to run.” He keeps Dean busy with nonexistent tasks for the next four hours.

This is why Benny is his favorite.

 

***

 

The thing is, his crew's reactions are at least _familiar_. They're comfortably, comfortingly, normal. They're probably trying hard to be.

But when he's run out of busywork and everyone’s at loose ends, par for the course when you’re stuck in space for days, he finds himself not knowing what to do.

He could follow his instinct and check in on Sam, but he's been forbidden from sticking by him 24/7 by everyone involved. Including Sam. Which would hurt if not for the hope that it means he's feeling more himself.

He could be nice and hang out with Kevin, but that either turns tremendously awkward or comes back around to the subject of Sam, like a dog with a gorram bone. Or both.

(They end up avoiding each other, each tending to be with Sam whenever the other's not; Jo and Charlie give him disapproving looks, but Dean decides it can totally be considered rehearsal for pretending not to know each other. If anyone tries to actually walk Kev through his part in the plan one more time, Dean thinks the kid might snap. Maybe even throw a punch. Probably break his own hand. …Though actually, as an ex-almost-doctor, Kevin's knowledge of where and how to hurt a body is likely pretty solid.)

(Dean needs to stop thinking so much.)

He could try and bury himself in Impala, in the steady life of her engines or the calming view from the bridge, but Jo and Charlie will be doing that too, individually. Normally they'd both kick him out when he got too nosy or whiny, but right now they'd try to be _sensitive_ and worry about him when they're already worried themselves and he can't take it, he just can't.

He could hole up on his own in one of the ship's nooks and crannies that he knows like the back of his hand, but the only thing he wants less right now than to Talk To Someone is to be alone with his thoughts.

He loves Impala more than life, but with the burden of secrets she's taken on—very very illegal secrets, way-more-illegal-than-usual secrets—she's gotten to feel claustrophobic.

And that's _before_ they take on passengers.

 

***

 

“Dean.” Jo is endlessly patient when she’s at the helm, her voice utterly serene. “Stop hovering or I’m having Charlie hogtie you in the engine room.”

“Roger that,” Charlie’s voice crackles through the comm.

“I am not hovering,” Dean grumbles, feeling about ready to vibrate out of his boots.

“I can _feel_ you vibrating six inches away. You are hovering.”

The comm crackles again, Gabriel’s voice coming through this time. “That you, Impala? Great timing, I’m one appointment out from wrapping up my business here. Meet you back at the docks in a few?”

“Right. Don’t be late.” Jo begins to guide the ship into the docks’ airspace. She seems to have relaxed at the news, but Dean feels the tension in his spine wind a little tighter. They’ve never actually _sent_ their “ambassador,” who comes and goes as he damn well pleases whenever they hit atmo, anywhere, much less on a covert rescue mission. He can’t _not_ be agitated about it. There’s a reason Gabe’s the ambassador, though. It’s useful to be above suspicion. A Companion taking a new acquaintance back to his quarters is the least suspicious way they could invent of sneaking Linda Tran on board the ship.

Kevin huddles in the doorway, fingers of one hand worrying the hem of a sleeve. “I should have gone with him. I should have gone to see her, I should tell her, make sure—”

“Kev, we talked about this.” Dean keeps the agitation out of his voice, he thinks, but it comes off as impatient instead. “Gabe’s been taking actual appointments for the last few days, too. Might’ve been awkward for everyone.”

“Talk about sex somewhere else,” Jo says, “I have a gorram ship to land.”

Both of them clam up immediately. Kevin starts to chew at the frayed sleeve. Dean is distracted from his own nervousness by guilt, seeing the deep shadows carved around the kid’s eyes. Neither of them is about to speak so soon after being ordered silent by pilot-mode Jo, but Dean knows he needs to do _something_ , assure and apologize to Kevin somehow.

He doesn’t know what or how, though. He says nothing.

And starts vibrating in his skin again.

Benny’s boots clomping up the forward stairs herald his presence long before his frame fills the bridge’s doorway. “Dean, you comin’? Meg’s got everythin’ ready to go soon as we touch down.”

Dean clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m coming. Yeah.” He hears Jo mutter something like a _thank you_ under her breath. He resists the urge to shove at her shoulder. (If he did that while she was at the helm he probably wouldn’t live to tell about it.) “Be down in a minute,” he says to Benny.

Benny nods, and clasps Kevin’s shoulder firmly, silently, before heading back toward the stairs to the cargo bay.

Dean tries the same thing, since he still doesn’t know what to say. Benny’s a rock, though, steady, a support, while Dean’s still shaking apart inside. So he’s not sure how much good it does either him or Kevin.

He goes to talk to Sam one more time, before they land and he has to lock his brother away.

 

***

 

Linda’s entry onto the ship goes as smoothly as they could have hoped—by the time Dean gets back from Tracy’s with legally squeaky-clean cargo, Gabriel’s brought the starboard shuttle back, mother and son have reunited, and Charlie’s distracted the new passengers while Jo brought the Trans to them through the cargo bay, like normal people off the docks. Not a whisper from Sam since Dean helped him lock himself into the port shuttle. (He can already feel the panic setting in about not sleeping where he can physically keep an eye on his brother for the first time since he got him back.) And they have ordinary passengers, among whom their fugitives can blend and not be asked too many questions. They’re in the air, in the black, within hours of landing, and stage one of the job has gone perfectly.

Dean keeps telling himself this as he gives the standard new-passenger-orientation. It’s a valiant effort, keeping himself sounding normal and at ease. “This right here is where we get together to eat, two meals a day, you’re on your own for lunch, and to just pass time, if you ever get bored in the passenger quarters. Beyond there and here, it’s crew-only—if you need to get at something in the cargo bay, one of us will come with.” The requisite pause, make eye contact and make sure they’ve got it. He’s got the rhythm of this orientation down to a science, but he’s a bit off this time, lingers maybe a touch too long. People can _not_ be wandering on this run, can’t see people they’re not meant to see or hear things they’re not meant to hear. “Kitchen’s communal, any contributions you can make would be awesome—we’ve gotten pretty creative over a lot of long hauls, but there’s only so much you can do with protein.”

Chuckles from the newlywed couple, who don’t know how true that is. Yet. Linda Tran looks like she’s been personally challenged.

“First stop is Whitefall, then Newhall—which is you two, right? We’ll be dropping you with the local sheriff, got a delivery to make to her, she’s good people—then Triumph and Lilac before we hit Deadwood,” with a nod to Linda. She nods along; he knows she already knows the itinerary but she’s sure to interrogate both himself and her son much more thoroughly the second they’re alone. Molly looks excited that Dean knows a sheriff on Newhall; “Thank you, really,” David says, like it’s a big deal for Dean to vouch for their soon-to-be host, though they’ve known each other all of ten minutes.

Castiel says nothing. He barely reacts at all, just keeps his gaze trained on Dean until he’s sure he’s done talking, not so much as a blink, not so much as a flicker of eyes toward Kevin fidgeting constantly at his side.

He can’t know anything. Dean keeps telling himself that too. He just has the _look_ of someone who sees more than average, probably because of the laser focus and the habit of not freakin’ looking away. Castiel’s just another stranger—one with piercing eyes and no sense of personal space, both literally with the not letting go of a handshake _and_ metaphorically with the blunt questions, who wants to stay on indefinitely.

Dean was right. This job is gonna kill him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks! Here goes part 3. In case it wasn't clear, this is roughly the same timeline as part 2, but more chronological and from Dean's POV. I must admit to complete and utter ignorance about the timing of space travel around the Firefly 'verse systems; the legs of the journey should be roughly proportionate--I've been eyeballing distances on [this map](http://i.picresize.com/images/2013/02/06/BMhCv.jpg), tweaking as I see fit, and assigning arc-convenient lengths of time to them. But this trip is probably ludicrously slow. Um...according to Out of Gas staying totally off the radar can make a trip 7 times longer than it needs to be? Wash's got me covered. 
> 
> Title still from Rime of the Ancient Mariner. I'm just having too much fun with it, guys.
> 
> Thanks again to [Sundapple](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sundapple/pseuds/Sundapple) for the beta! (She's got writing of her own up now, so if exploration of superpowers in an original, collaborative, universe interests anyone, check it out!)


	2. Whitefall

It’s less than five days to Whitefall, and Dean’s already almost had multiple heart attacks.

The first is when he has that private conversation/interrogation with Linda and her son. They have it in his bunk, since no one who doesn’t already know there are fugitives on board is allowed into the forward corridor, and the crew’s quarters are pretty well insulated, sound-wise.

“I appreciate your helping us,” Linda Tran says the second Dean’s closed the hatch. “But I would like to know what you’ve gotten my son into.”

The way she says the words _my son_ kind of makes Dean want to run for cover.

“Well, your son, as you can see, is, uh…” Dean rubs the back of his neck. “On the run from the law. We’re helping. Not overly fond of the law at the moment.”

“I had noticed.” He can’t tell whether she’s referring to that last part of what he’s said or all of it, but she’s remarkably unfazed. Probably the calmest, most in-control person in the room right now. Considering their relative amounts of time had to adjust to the current shitstorm, that’s kind of pathetic for everyone else in the room.

“You’re…taking this really well.”

“I got the panic out of the way when your friend Gabriel came to pick me up,” she says dismissively. “I know where Kevin is now and that he’s safe, and that’s half of what I need. The other half,” and now she’s somehow pinning them both with her eyes at the same time, they’re not even on the same side of the room, “is to know what is going on.”

Dean meets Kevin’s eyes. They’ve discussed this. The best way to make her understand is to show her.

It’d worked on Kevin. Dean almost thinks that at this point, he’d be sad to leave.

“He good to meet new people?” he asks aloud.

“He’s fine. At least, as of yesterday, when I brought it up.” Kid can be nervous sometimes, but he knows when he knows what he’s talking about. He’d have been an amazing doctor.

Dean shoves the thought away viciously and turns to open the hatch. “Okay then, we’ll go down the forward stairs.”

The heart attack almost happens when he climbs halfway out of the hatch and sees Castiel standing in the doorway leading to the mess area. Dean does not fall back down the hatch. He’d be proud of that if a sudden flash of panic weren’t whiting out most of his brain functions. He can’t blow everything to hell on the first day, he _can’t._

He takes a steadying breath, forcibly reminding himself that the guy can’t actually see through walls, _or_ into Dean’s head, no matter how piercing those gorram eyes are. All Castiel can see right now is the captain of the ship frozen up like a deer in the headlights for no apparent reason, and he’s taking it in with a faint crease between his brows. Probably thinks Dean’s a nutjob. Probably thinks he should have booked passage on a different ship. Dean kind of wishes that too right now. God, and it’s only the first day.

Castiel does not move (is he even breathing?) and does not break eye contact, so Dean makes himself speak first. “Can I help you?”

Castiel studies him a moment longer, but seems to decide that if Dean can talk coherently he can’t be too out of it, and bows his head formally. “No, thank you.” And he moves on.

Dean waits to make absolutely sure he’s gone (and no heart attack is imminent) to beckon the Trans out of his cabin and take Linda to meet his brother.

 

***

 

The second near-heart attack makes Dean want to punch himself for his own stupidity.

They’re at dinner on the second night, and the just-married Molly—who is turning out to have a surprisingly unabashed sense of humor—is engaged in a game with the women of the crew (plus Gabe) that involves evaluating the men. Dean isn’t quite sure how they got here, but he thinks it had something to do with Molly’s younger sister being all dramatic and dewy-eyed over big sis’ marriage and “adventurous” new life, and Jo and Charlie deciding playing matchmaker was fun.

The men’s role in this game is mostly to keep eating and try not to feel too awkward.

Gabe manages this without even trying, of course, immediately declaring himself on the women’s side of the game since he’s not exactly on the market for long-term commitment. Charlie offers to take his place (“Is your sister cute?”) but is deflated by the fact that Molly’s sister isn’t into women. Castiel seems genuinely confused by the whole thing, pointing out that they are traveling away from Persephone and will likely never see the girl in question. Kevin repeats the announcement that he does _not_ want to get married for a solid thirty seconds until even his mom is laughing. Benny groans and begs that people “stop discussin’ my eligibility for someone half my age?” Dean…

Dean needs to act natural. So he asks, with exaggerated interest, “How old _is_ your sister?”

Molly eyes him up and down just as exaggeratedly, and David buries his face in his hands, shaking with laughter. “Seventeen,” she answers with a grin.

Benny follows David’s lead. “ _Exactly_ half my age,” he mutters through his hands.

Dean backs off with a shake of his head. “Ten years in that direction is a bigger age gap than I like.”

“You boys are no fun,” Meg drawls, and Charlie swats her on the arm. “What? She’s _legally_ a big girl now.”

“Hmmm.” Molly appraises Dean again. He almost genuinely laughs. “Well then, would any of you happen to have a younger brother?”

That’s all it takes.

Jo covers for him, with loud complaints about being an only child, and Charlie pitches in by defending the perks. Dean remembers himself quickly enough to laugh with only a second of lag time, but it takes another minute for his pulse to settle.

The conversation’s moved on, and nobody’s acting like they noticed anything, but Dean doesn’t chip in again. He spends the time berating himself. Freaking paranoid, he thinks, freaking obvious. He stabs vindictively at his plate; that, somebody does notice. Castiel glances up at him from across the table, that same is-the-captain-of-this-ship-stable expression as last time creasing his brow.

Dean takes a deep breath, and goes back to eating and trying not to feel too awkward. He only succeeds at the first part.

 

***

 

The third happens when Dean is going to visit Sam. He can’t do it every day, someone might notice, but four days is pushing his limit—he has to see his brother, hopefully clear-eyed today, has to hear his voice, whether he’s talking about Kevin’s latest attempt at medication or speaking in riddles and metaphors no one else can understand, has to clap him on the back or nudge him in the arm and know, again, that he’s there and that he’s safe. As safe as they can be. Dean climbs to the shuttles through the cargo bay to avoid being seen by unsuspecting passengers.

So he is completely not expecting to see one of them at the door to Sam’s shuttle. He ducks reflexively back below floor level, stands frozen on the stairs—he’s distantly surprised that Castiel doesn’t hear his suddenly galloping heartbeat as he watches, through the grating of the walkway, the dark-haired man raise his hand to knock at the shuttle door.

As his heart races its way out of his chest and into his throat, his brain seems to have frozen. Which is not useful _at all_ but he can’t make it work, he can’t think why Castiel would be here, he can’t think what to _do_.

There’s no answer to Castiel’s knock, because there’s a very specific pattern Sam will open the door to. There’s no point to Castiel’s tugging at the door handle, because the shuttle’s locked from the inside.

Castiel lingers a moment longer, probably giving the door that gorram frown of concentration, before crossing to the other side of the ship to try the starboard shuttle. Dean hears Gabriel’s voice from a distance, a faint, perky “Come in!” He lets himself breathe again, lets himself lean— _not_ collapse, thanks—on the stair railing as his heart subsides back into its usual spot behind his sternum. Just a shuttle mix-up. He might still have reason to be worried, but he does actually trust Gabe not to sleep with anyone on the ship and frankly can’t begin to imagine Castiel, with his perpetually slumped shoulders under his perpetual ragged overcoat and his perpetually mistied tie and his overly earnest general expression, with a sex drive. That is not even a thing he should be imagining. It is bizarre and probably creepy to even try.

He’d take the guy sleeping with Gabe over the guy discovering Sam any day, though. He’s almost light-headed with relief as he waits for Castiel to come scurrying out of the Companion’s shuttle and down the aft stairs to the passenger berths, Gabriel’s laughter floating behind him, before he climbs the rest of the way up onto the walkway and crosses to Sam’s shuttle.

Still. Three almost-heart-attacks in four days. Dean’s not sure how much of this he can take.

 

***

 

Rufus notices, the old bastard. He doesn’t even wait until they’re alone, though at least everyone but Meg and Benny stayed back on the ship—not many sights to see on a backwater moon like Whitefall—to say “You look like shit, boy.”

“Nice to see you too.” Dean is really not in the mood for one of Rufus’ cynical life lessons. He awkwardly hefts a crate off the mule by himself, until Rufus deigns to come to his aid.

“Don’t lie to me,” he says. “It’s only nice to see me when you need my help.”

“Aw, Rufus, don’t say things like that.” Dean drops his end of the crate onto the floor of Rufus’ backroom’s backroom’s backroom. “I like seeing you when I need your money, too.”

Rufus huffs something about young morons who don’t know when to leave well enough alone as he clomps away to unlock a safe and count out Dean’s credits. Meg and Benny, meanwhile, hop back on the mule and Benny revs it up, backs out toward Impala. They know Rufus, can trust him to pay without the muscle there.

“Hey,” Dean raises his open hands as the old man continues to grumble, “I’m here by request this time.”

Rufus quirks a dark eyebrow. “Not my request.”

“So you can’t use extra med supplies?” The safe door slams unnecessarily. But Dean thinks he catches a bit of fond exasperation flashing across Rufus’ wrinkled face before it’s drowned out by stormy exasperation.

He holds out Dean’s payment, but doesn’t let go immediately when Dean grabs it. He studies him for an uncomfortable second before finally dropping his hand. “You better not bring trouble to my moon.”

“Aw c’mon, you think Bobby’s dumb enough to send you trouble?”

The older man snorts. “He sends me you.”

Dean really should be offended but he can’t find it in himself to disagree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Cameo Parade! :) I have no idea whether these minor characters I am fond of will ever appear in this 'verse again, but I felt obligated to define their existence in it. For no other reason than my desire to hug them.
> 
> Quick note that school (and post-graduation fellowship/job application season! save me...) is starting soon and I have boneheadedly begun writing another long-term AU in a different fandom...like I don't write slowly enough in the first place. So I may be slowing this one down, maybe alternating weeks. Hope that doesn't make it plod too much more than it already does.


	3. Newhall

Whitefall to Newhall is almost two weeks this time of year. Technically less, if you’re not trying to avoid an Alliance deep space station without looking like you’re avoiding it. But aboard the Impala, they usually are.

At the moment, they most definitely are.

“Yes, Dean, I am sure,” Jo says for maybe the twentieth time in the last two days. “We are on course. We are on a _good_ course. A course which will not run into anybody. Get off my bridge before I drag you off it unconscious.”

“This is _my_ ship,” he protests, but as usual no one seems to buy it.

He takes to avoiding the common areas of the ship. It’s not like he hung out in the med bay or passenger commons much anyway; he can handle a bit of isolation until he stops nearly having heart attacks in front of unsuspecting passengers. Or in front of his crew, for that matter. Meg seems to think it’s funny to watch. He can not for the life of him remember why he hired her.

He likes to think he’s pretty brave, he’s not a coward, for sure, but he isn’t prepared to test Jo’s limits on the bridge just yet, so he tries cooping himself up in the engine room with Charlie.

It takes a couple hours for him to remember that she usually spends free time in the mess area, hanging out with others. And now she’s got a batch of interesting new people to hang out with.

He sticks around anyway, pacing around the engine room and running every conceivable check (none of them are necessary), and a few more hours later Charlie shows up. He knew she couldn’t go a full day without coming in here at least once. “Hey Charlie!” he yells from his precarious position partway under the rotating engine shaft.

“Dean?” He feels the toe of her boot nudge against his knee. “Whatcha up to?”

“Givin’ her a checkup, what’s it look like?”

He bumps his head on a support block as he’s yanked unexpectedly out from under the rotor. “It looks like you’re sprawled on my engine room floor fiddling with Impala in mid-flight, unsupervised.”

“Ow,” he complains, rubbing his head, but she only kicks at his knee again.

“Stress relief is healthy, but, the fiddling with engine in mid-flight unsupervised. Kinda not so much.”

“Jo kicked me out.” He sits up, nursing his soon-to-be bruise and his wounded-puppy-dog look.

“What is your face doing.” Charlie plops down next to him. “Of course Jo kicked you out, you hover. But anyway, stress relief. Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

And this is the downside to hanging out with Charlie—she doesn’t take bullshit like that from him.

“Nice try, dude, but sitting this close to you is raising my blood pressure by proxy. Is he doing worse? Or is it just the strangers?”

“Which part of ‘not really’ didn’t make sense to you?”

“The ‘not’,” she replies cheerfully, and, well, he walked into that one. “The strangers ain’t bad though, you don’t have to be afraid of them. David’s all busy with facts and figures for their house on Newhall, same ones over and over, I think, Molly keeps teasing him about it. And Castiel’s easily confused. But he’s actually kinda cool.” She sways into him, bumping his shoulder. “Definitely funny. Very cute, for a guy.”

“…Charlie…”

“What? You’re telling me chatting with a cute funny guy who is _completely unrelated_ to your problems wouldn’t be healthier stress relief than accidentally setting the engine room on fire?” She grins. “That’s what you pay me for.”

“I pay you to _not_ set things on fire.” Dean shoves her. “And the completely unrelated guy is a whole lot likelier to think about things I accidentally let slip than Impala is. ’Least she’ll keep everything to herself. Right, baby?” He rubs the engine room wall affectionately.

Charlie’s looking at him with something like pity. “Dean, I love her too, but you’ve still gotta talk to the live ones once in a while.”

He sighs. “Do I really?”

The look changes from pity to command. “Yup.”

“…I’m about to get kicked out again, aren’t I.”

“Damn straight.”

“ _My_ freakin’ ship,” he mutters, but he pulls himself to his feet. “Great, I guess I’ll just go—”

“—Not avoid people,” Charlie finishes promptly. “Not hide in your bunk.”

He stares down at her. She blinks serenely back. “Fine. Hang out in the kitchen, then. Get a snack. Read a book.”

“Don’t strain yourself.” Charlie hops to her feet and socks him in the arm while he makes a face at her. “Oh, and have fun in there—Linda’s teaching Molly to cook.”

Which is how he stops avoiding the mess area for one day, and then goes back to avoiding it again.

It’s not that cooking lessons scare him or anything, that’d be dumb, but Linda took “there’s only so much you can do with protein” very seriously and seems determined to find every last possibility by personal experiment. Some of the experiments are very…creative. Molly’s in on it apparently because she thought it sounded like a great skill to learn before she settles down planetside, and that’s only encouraged the experimentation. And the conversation. It’s like they’re _plotting_ over in the kitchen, doing things to material they mean to eat that sometimes seem really questionable to Dean. He’s decided it’s just better if he doesn’t hear about this stuff before he eats it.

Charlie can tsk at him for being antisocial all she likes, it seems like a winning strategy to him. He gets to eat at the end of every day without being put off (or worried for his kitchen) by the process. He’s a little surprised at it, but nothing Linda’s produced (or salvaged from Molly’s occasional mistakes) is inedible. The meatloaf tastes meat-like; the stir fry tastes like the good homemade kind should. It’s probably the best not-real-food he’s had in ten years out in the black, and he spent half those years cooking for the family. How does a middle-class Persephone housewife know how to do all this without ever having left the planet?

Kevin shrugs at the question. “I’m pretty convinced she can do anything, man. If she can’t already she’ll figure it out. You should’ve seen the year I took engineering tech in high school.”

Dean makes a note to be careful of what he brings up when Linda and Charlie are in a room together.

A couple nights before they get to Newhall, Molly ropes David into making dinner for everyone all on their own, and it doesn’t come out half bad—Dean congratulates them along with everyone else. He stops paying attention to food pretty quick, though, because they start talking about the future which leads to talking about family which is a conversation Dean does _not_ want to get involved in again. Is no one with him on this? Does no one remember how his family could be dangerous to talk about in front of people?

But it’s Benny’s family that ends up getting dragged out instead. And now Dean kind of wants to strangle Charlie’s friend.

He manages not to glare at Castiel through the rest of dinner, but it’s a close thing.  

He follows Benny out after clean-up, and doesn’t say anything, just closes the door to the bridge behind them.

They spend a couple hours up there by themselves, just sitting, and Jo doesn’t bother them once. Dean doesn’t know if she knew, before. If any of his crew knew. Benny told him about Andrea pretty soon after they met, but he didn’t talk about Elizabeth until months after—once Dean was sober, once he wasn’t drowning himself in grief (in despair) for his dad (at being alone). Andrea, the wound, the meds/addiction/breakup/smack—all that, he talked about. He talked Dean through his makeshift personal rehab with memories of his own. But Dean talked about his mom before Benny talked about Elizabeth. That was years ago, but still…

Dean keeps silent for a long while. When he finally does speak up: “We could suspend the ban on booze for tonight, if you want.”

“Don’ you dare.”

There’s a bit of a chuckle in it, and it lets Dean relax. At least he and Benny still know the right things to say to each other.

They go back to sitting in silence, but it no longer feels like it might shatter.

 

***

 

Dean’s still not talking to Castiel when they land. Not that he was talking to Castiel much before.

Everyone takes the opportunity to get off the ship on Newhall, Molly and David because it’s their stop, Meg and Benny because they’re schlepping Jody’s cargo, everyone else because they haven’t breathed fresh air for weeks and Jody’s actually happy to see them.

Jody runs one of the fishing islands—it’s a ways out from the nearest major water plant, which is one of the reasons both she and the crew of Impala like it so much, and it’s not the exact one Molly and David are headed for but it’s in the same chain. The two of them are ridiculously delighted that he’s dropping them in the middle of nowhere.

“It’s ten times closer to where we’re headed than the capital,” David tells him, brushing off his apology and shaking his hand.

“And we got to meet your friend the sheriff,” Molly adds, arm slung around her husband’s waist. “It’s good not to be starting from scratch.”

“Yeah, you’re in good hands with Jody,” Dean says honestly, shaking Molly’s hand too, when she offers it.

“Better than yours, for sure.” Jody, having made the rounds of the rest of the crew and met all of the passengers, plants herself in front of Dean, hands on hips, head tilted back to look him in the eye. Her new charges part before her and considerately head off to say their goodbyes to the others. “Hey there.”

“Hey, Jody.” He can’t not return her smile. “Ready to do business?”

“I’m doing great, thanks for asking. Are you in a hurry or something?”

“You know I’ve always got time for you,” Dean says, taking mock offense. “The fish smell, on the other hand…”

“You insult my island, I insult your ship,” she reminds him, and shoves him lightly on her way over to the cargo. “I did about as much work fixing up mine as you did yours. And mine’s, what, a hundred times bigger? You remember your place, you whippersnapper.”

“Yes ma’am.” He marches after her. “Who’s not _that_ much older than me.”

“Aw, thanks, Winchester.” She flicks open a pocketknife and pries off a crate lid. “Let’s take a look at this.”

Once they’re both leaning over the open container of first aid supplies, she flicks her eyes back up at him. The playfulness has dropped from her voice when she quirks an eyebrow and asks quietly, “So how’re you doing?”

“Great.”

The eyebrow remains firmly in place, telling him what she thinks of that answer.

He sighs. “I always stress about passengers, you know that.”

“Couldn’t flirt with the pretty one ’cause she’s married?” Jody teases.

“What—no!”

“The cute one in the trenchcoat seems to be on his own, coulda gone for that instead.”

Dean shoves the crate at her. “What is _with_ you people. I just prefer carrying stuff that doesn’t go poking around my ship. You gonna take some of it off my hands or not?”

She studies him. “Doing not-so-great, then.”

He buries his head in his hands. “Why do I know so many moms?”

“Okay, okay. No momming.” Jody raises both hands in surrender, though she doesn’t quit assessing him. “You help me move it, I’ll take it off your hands.”

Moving boxes, _that_ he can handle. “You’ve got five, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She’s already replaced the lid of her first crate and is sliding it off onto the bed of her own transport, next to David and Molly’s luggage. “Should keep us going for the better part of a year. Where’re you takin’ the rest of it?”

“Dropped some off with Rufus. Garth’s next stop.” Dean shoves a second crate, a third, onto Jody’s transport and they both grab the fourth to stack it on top. “Then we’re headed out Bobby’s way, via Isaac and Tamara.”

“Ah.” Jody grunts as they heave the last crate up and over. She dusts off her hands. “Well, say hi to Bobby for me. And tell him he’s welcome anytime to explain what this wonderful surprise delivery is all about.”

“Oh come on,” Dean groans, wiping off his own hands on his shirt. “You all agreed to this, didn’t you? This is all stuff you could use.”

“Just used to sending out for it instead of getting it offered to me.” Her hands are back on her hips again. Dean remains stubbornly silent. She shrugs.

“I’d tell you.” He feels a stab of guilt. If anyone else deserves to know… “Just—gory details. If it were—I would.”

Her eyes soften. “I trust you, Dean.” She grips his arm. “You take care of yourself. Or get Ellen to do it, if you won’t let me mom you.”

“I will.” He squeezes her shoulder in return. “The first part.”

The eyebrow goes up again.

“I’ve been too old for the second part for years,” he complains.

The other eyebrow joins it.

“…it’s gonna happen anyway,” he sighs.

“You and Jo under her roof at the same time? You’re not escaping.” Jody lets her hand fall from his arm, and the smirk falls from her face. “Be careful heading out near Reaver territory.” A little unconscious crease appears between her brows. “They get bolder every year.”

She never talks about what happened to her husband and son. She doesn’t have to.

“I’m always careful.” He knows Jody can hear the promise under the joking. She has one of the sharpest bullshit-detector senses of anyone he knows.

She also gives some of the best hugs.

He reciprocates the one she gives him now, and doesn’t let go for a good while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, definitely slowing down to every other week. I forgot how crazy school is. O.O Half of this chapter has actually existed for a while, because Jody is fabulous and I headcanoned her into this 'verse early on. I don't know yet if I'm going to do anything with her, but I like having her around. :)


	4. Triumph

Dean holds on to some residual grumpiness at Castiel for a few days, on Benny’s behalf. He figures it’s allowed, since Benny, coolest guy in the galaxy, isn’t going to. (Andrea and Elizabeth are usually some of the only things he’s _not_ chill about, but he says Castiel gets it and they can just not talk to each other. Which they do.) It’s definitely nothing to do with Dean’s residual grumpiness about this entire situation.

Why can’t Dean be allowed to relax already? Why are they stuck with one last random stranger they have to hide things from for the rest of the trip? Why did Dean think this was a good idea?

The answer to that was that Linda Tran was almost certainly being watched at home, and Bobby told him bringing her straight to Haven would be dumb even for him, idjit. But even accepting Bobby’s higher wisdom: why was everybody suddenly _friends_ with their random stranger?

Dean knows Charlie’s been hanging out with Castiel, he couldn’t grudge her that and he trusted her not to spill anything important. But she’s let him into the engine room. How’s Dean supposed to use that as a haven if the one person left on the ship who doesn’t know could just walk in any time? And then Jo--he could understand Charlie, she’s friends with everyone, but _Jo_ \--lets Castiel onto the bridge. Which means she really likes him or she’s in the grip of black magic, and in either case, when did that happen? And then Dean walks in on Meg and Castiel eating lunch together, and he’s actually smiling, and she’s actually _laughing_ , and it’s just too weird.

Soon it’s like the guy has the run of the ship. He’s always _around_ , in the kitchen when Dean wants a snack, in the engine room when Dean wants to talk to Charlie, in the passenger commons when Dean swings by to see Kevin; and every time he sees him, in company or not, Castiel looks up and says “Hello Dean,” like they’re on a first-name basis, and does that thing Charlie thinks is cute and Meg thinks is hilarious where he doesn’t know when to break eye contact like a normal human. Venting to Sam is a rare and irregular opportunity, if Dean doesn’t want to get caught, and the first time he tries he gets laughed at, what the hell.

Dean makes it about two-thirds of the way to Triumph before he gives up and heads for Gabe’s shuttle, knocking on his way in.

“It’s customary to wait after knocking, y’know,” the Companion says from his couch. Dean has no idea what he does with his days besides sprawl on that couch but he doesn’t really care right now, he can do anything as long as Dean can sit quietly.

“My shuttle,” he shoots back, because there’s comfort in routine.

“Mine while I’m paying,” Gabe says on cue, “which I still am. So what’re you commandeering it for now?”

Dean plops onto the couch without asking, and Gabe’s eyebrows climb so high they almost crawl off his face. “Hiding.”

Gabe’s a jackass, mostly, but when he decides not to entertain himself by needling you he’s actually pretty good to talk to. “From?”

“ _Everything_.” Dean rubs his face with both hands and then stays behind them, where it’s nice and dark and peaceful.

“And everywhere else was, what, taken?” Dean takes it back. Gabe’s always a jackass.

“Yes, everywhere else is taken.” He sits back and lets his head tip back against the cushions. “That’s the problem.”

He can feel Gabe’s beady little eyes on him, even with his own eyes shut. “Right. That’s your big problem right now.”

“You know it isn’t.” Dean presses his hands to his eyes again. “It’s just one more thing I can’t keep a handle on. My own gorram ship.”

Gabe allows him a moment of sympathetic silence. “So,” he then says, “this wouldn’t be a great time to tell you about the prank I set up for the next person who tries to make tea in the kitchen--”

He cackles when Dean throws a pillow at him.

Dean takes the offered tangent and interrogates Gabe about what he’s done to the tea (“Who said I did anything to the _tea_?” “Have you messed with the thing that spouts _boiling hot water_ , then? ...Gabe? Gabe!”) for the next fifteen minutes, with predictably little success. It has the intended effect, though. Gabe may be a jackass, but he’s got no patience for moping and a talent for distraction.

He finally stands up to leave, since he really should try to avert some tea-related disaster (or at least warn people to proceed with caution) and he feels much better having something to do. He heaves himself upright, throws one more pillow at Gabe (who sticks out his tongue at him--seriously, this guy’s supposed to be an interpersonal relations professional), crosses to the door and pushes aside the bead curtain, and almost walks right into Castiel, who’s standing right outside the door with one hand raised to knock.

He blinks. “Hello Dean.”

Of _fucking course._

 

***

 

Dean’s worked out most of his frustration by the time they reach Triumph, once again by squabbling with Gabe. (The tea and the water boiler had both been fine; opening the boiler to refill it, though, delivered a payload of non-boiling water over the victim’s head. It’d been Castiel. Gabe smirked about it the whole time Dean was yelling at him, the smug bastard.) He’s still a little irritated, though, that Castiel’s accidentally infiltrated his last haven on the ship. Sure, there’s always his bunk, but he’d go stir-crazy in there, plus someone would drag him out and lecture him if he stayed too long; sure, there’s his brother, but Castiel’s freer access to most of the ship isn’t exactly making it easier to visit Sam surreptitiously.

Kevin’s been antsy about that, too; he takes advantage of everybody being off the ship on Triumph to slip back on and give Sam a check-up. Or possibly he’s hiding from Garth, Dean can’t be sure. Dude can be overwhelming to the uninitiated.

Garth, being Garth, introduces himself with bear hugs (which he’s by all rights too skinny to give) and insists on hosting everyone for a night. Dean’s a tad reluctant--understandably, he thinks, given what happened last time they bunked down at the cheerful little settlement that’s as kooky as Garth himself. But Garth assures them that there’s been a change of leadership on the moon (or they wouldn’t have risked landing on Triumph in the first place) and the new prefects have no reason to be pissed at anyone, and Dean’s crew gladly goes over his head to accept the offer.

The three passengers, though, are understandably weirded out by their first exposure to Garth and have no idea what anyone’s talking about, and are wary of going farther until _something_ ’s explained. And this is what leads to storytime.

“I owe these guys--my whole town does,” Garth explains, jostling Dean. Dean groans and drops his head into his hands. “We were just starting out, made a real easy target for some who liked getting things they didn’t need the dishonest way. I’m the only person in town knows how to use a gun, so we needed some backup.”

“So our captain in shining armor,” Charlie picks up, “volunteers, since we’re on our way through, and since we don’t know the asshats in question have family in high places on this moon," with a pointed look at Garth, who shakes his head sadly, "and he takes over one of the supply wagons that’s bound to get ambushed. As Benny’s wife.”

Dean glances up just long enough to see Kevin look like Christmas has come early, and buries his face in his hands again.

“We needed to keep up a harmless front,” Benny goes on, “so they wouldn’t see it comin’ when we drew guns on ’em in defense.”

“Or when Meg popped up out of the back of the wagon with a shotgun,” Jo puts in dryly.

Benny shrugs. “Wasn’ our fault they weren’ open to civilized negotiation.”

Dean, who’s resolutely not looking up until this ritual humiliation is over, thanks, can’t see Castiel, but he can imagine his ridiculously focused problem-solving expression when he asks, “Why wasn’t Meg the one in the dress?”

That’s Jo’s snort. “You’ve met Meg, right?”

“That keeps coming up.” But there’s a pause while Castiel turns to meet Meg’s eyes and consider, for a very brief moment. “In this case it’s a fair point.”

“Her loss.” Benny slings an arm around Dean’s shoulders. “I’m a catch. You were lucky to get me, brother.”

He grins lazily as the others laugh, the traitor.

         

***

 

Storytime, or Debunk-the-Notion-that-We-Have-Any-Respect-for-Our-Captain Time, puts everybody at ease and in a good mood (and what does _that_ say), and the Trans seem to have warmed to Garth and his Garth-ness and think it’d be fun to stay the night. So Garth, naturally, gives everyone another round of hugs (mollifying Dean only slightly. The guy does give good hugs) and proceeds to announce their arrival to his entire settlement. Which, of course, because these are Garth’s people, makes the entire settlement drop everything to throw a party for them.

Dean’s less than enthused, because seriously, last time was a headache, but he knows he’s biased. He considers sneaking back onto Impala to hang out with Sam instead, but people would notice him disappearing. He sits out of the dancing around the bonfire, watches the others have fun, and determinedly doesn’t get drunk, with Benny at his side in solidarity. The rest of his crew smirk at him every time they make eye contact. But, he notes, Jo is quick to snag Kevin as a partner to spare him dancing with his mom--whom Charlie drags into the dance--and keep him from random strangers, just in case. Gabe can take care of himself, so he’s left to dance with everyone in arm’s reach, following no steps known to man. Castiel is also protected from random strangers, though he’s consumed more alcohol than Gabe has without showing any signs of getting drunk, so he might not need it. He’s dancing (ineptly) with Meg.

Dean squints when he notices them. Last time they were here, Meg had groaned and run off in search of more booze at the mere mention of dancing. “When did _that_ happen?”

Benny follows his gaze. “Ha. I don’ think it’s happenin’ the way you mean.” He shrugs at Dean’s questioning look. “Jus’ Meg bein’ Meg.”

That explains nothing at all, since Meg is known to act “the way Dean means” but is not known to _like_ people. But Dean is prevented from pointing this out by a suddenly-acquired lapful of tipsy Garth, who slings an arm around Benny and hugs Dean with his three other limbs almost hard enough to cut off his breathing. “Sorry ’bout last time, fellas,” he tells them extra-earnestly. “Won’t happen again.”

“We know, Garth.” Dean tries to pry an arm free to pat Garth on the back, but he can’t, so Benny does the patting for him.

Garth beams and squeezes them both tighter. “I’m so glad you guys are here!”

Dean smiles, even as he works Garth’s arm free from where it’s hooked around his neck. Garth has that effect on people, after they’ve gotten used to him. After the day (week) (months) Dean’s been having, it’s uncomplicated and just really, really nice. This layover wasn’t such a bad idea. “Me too, buddy,” he says, and it feels good to mean it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eep, sorry I'm late! I somehow forgot the amount of writing-other-things involved in school...and also am rapidly approaching the limit of my backlog, so while the next chapter should be done in two weeks it's all kind of up in the air after that.


	5. (en route to) Lilac

_The rooms are empty as he walks through them. The two-person bunk is cleaned out. The mess area looks like a tornado hit it. His footsteps echo on the metal grille of the hallway, on the stairs, as he makes his way into the cargo hold. It’s too big, with all this silence. He loves this ship, but he hates this silence. The sound of no one else there._

_He tries to get away from it--heads for the port shuttle, his steps slow for all his desperation. He knows that’s where he’ll be. He has to. He has to still be here…_

_But when he opens the door to the shuttle, it too is empty._

 

***

 

Dean fucking hates nightmares.

He’d been doing pretty well on that front, tiring himself out the way he has, but he thinks the stress of this job--of all the _waiting_ \--is finally eating its way into his sleeping subconscious. Like he wasn’t spending enough time on worst-case scenarios while he was awake. He wasn’t sure whether this latest one was supposed to be about the time Sam left, or the possibility of him leaving again, or (probably) both, but it’s a new one. Apparently, his brain knows they’ve got nearly a month before they reach Qing Long, not a planet in sight, and has decided to use the downtime to get creative. Stupid brain.

It’s getting close to the anniversary, he realizes, of the day Sam left. Well, he says close; it’s still weeks away, but he really thinks he can’t be blamed for having it on his mind early this year.

There are other anniversaries coming up that he’d rather not think about. Not that he seems to have any say in what he thinks about these days.

He _hates_ nightmares.

 

***

 

He knows it’s probably a bad idea but Dean skips breakfast to go check on the port shuttle. It shouldn’t have to be a bad idea, he’s perfectly justified, but there’s still one stranger aboard who could catch him. Nearly a month more of this sneaking, _god_ this was badly planned. He’s never letting Charlie sign on passengers without him again.

Dean’s relief at the shuttle not actually being empty (of course it’s not, where would he go?) is mostly smothered by the fact that Sam, of course, figures out what’s bothering him and _that_ brings on the guilt. Dean eventually has to give up and surreptitiously send Kevin to take his place. Dean is worse than useless at handling Sam’s guilt.

It feels shitty, not being able to take care of the one person he’s always supposed to have taken care of. He’s failed enough in that category already. And he knows the reason he can’t handle it, which doesn’t make him feel better at all--if Sam’d come back to him any other way, he’d have _wanted_ him to feel guilty. For a single day, maybe; while Dean remembered Sam choosing school over family, Sam keeping it secret from him, Sam fighting with Dad the last time they saw each other, Sam abandoning even their name, so Dean couldn’t find him again no matter how hard he secretly searched. Dad shutting Dean out, after. Dad dying.

He wouldn’t have been able to hold onto it, because Dean knows and always has known that Sam did what was best for himself. He could do bigger, better, and just _other_ things than what Dad was bringing them up to; he could do anything he wanted. Some kind of acknowledgment that it hadn’t also been the best thing for their family, or that Sam cared about that, would’ve been all he really wanted. But Dean can’t get that from Sam now, they can’t settle anything, they can’t fight and make up or even get Jo to physically force them to talk it out (because she _would_ ). Sam can apologize all he wants, now, but it only makes Dean feel more guilty.

He doesn’t realize how heavily he’s brooding until Castiel says his name, and the guy’s face snaps into focus, peering into Dean’s eyes from an uncomfortably close distance. “You’ve been sitting like that for half an hour.” _Like what?_ Like he wants to burn a hole in the hull with his eyes, probably. “Are you all right?”

It isn’t logical to blame the one completely uninvolved bystander on this ship for anything, but Dean can’t be mad at Sam and he’s already mad at himself and the rest of this has to go somewhere. Besides, Dean’s stuck acting like nothing’s wrong for an audience of one for another solid month, and Castiel’s the reason, and the guy knows nothing about him or what he’s dealing with, where does he get off asking if Dean’s all right? So Dean lets himself snap “Christ, ever heard of personal space?” and, when Castiel steps back obligingly, brush past him. He leaves the room without looking back.

 

***

 

Kevin corners him later. “So what did you do?”

“Nothing.” Kevin looks profoundly unimpressed, which is more or less his default expression around Dean these days. Dean can’t really blame him. “I had a nightmare.”

Kevin’s face does a weird little shift that gets it stuck between sympathy and exasperation. Dean’d bet he’s not the only one sleeping badly around here. “You know it’s not a good idea to bring that to him, right? Especially since we never know what might really upset--”

“It was about him,” Dean snaps.

Kevin rubs his forehead. “How does that make it _better_?”

It doesn’t. Dean just had to see him. Kevin knows it.

“Maybe...calm down first next time? Send me? or Jo.”

“Calming down is off the table,” Dean says, and it’s not like it's a surprise. Or a statement exclusive to him. Kevin concedes the point with what might have been a laugh if either of them were actually amused.

That kid, Dean thinks, because apparently today is a good day for guilt, is way too old for his age.

 

***

 

_Dean’s immediate reaction to the sight of Sam tucked away behind the engine with a book is panic, because they’re not supposed to be in here. “Sam! Get out before Dad finds you!”_

_Sam pouts. He’s always had an unfairly effective pouty face, but he’s almost a teenager now, he’s got to stop that. He’s got to grow up. “Why? We come in here all the time.”_

_“We used to.” Only a few days ago. “Dad’s back now and he’s in charge. And you’ve never been in here while we’re flying, you don’t know what you’re doing.”_

_“I’m reading.” The Pout has crossbred with The Glower and this is frankly unfair. “He can’t make me stop that.”_

_“You wanna bet? If he catches you in here, where he told us not to go?”_

_“We don’t have to do everything he tells us.”_

_“Yes, we do!”_

_“Why?” Sam almost yells, full-on glowering now._

_Dean holds firm. “Because he’s our Dad.”_

_Sam snorts, and seriously, he can’t be allowed to be the cynical worldly one and the pouty one. At least make up your mind, Sammy. “Not that you’d know it.”_

_“Shut up.” The response is automatic._

_“What, disappearing off to get shot at for five years is some great fatherly accomplishment? Gives him the right to just--just uproot us whenever he feels like coming back? Forget school, or wanting to do things with our lives--”_

_“He didn’t just feel like coming back to uproot anybody! He lost a war.” Dean’s starting to get mad now. Sam knows the Independents were on the right side of things, he’s known since he was eight, and he’s known that whole time that Dad fighting on that side was something to be proud of. “He can’t just stop! We can’t just do nothing, when the Alliance won. When they’ll just be able to keep getting away with doing whatever they want to people, even their own people, like Mom--”_

_“_ He made us leave! _” Sam screams._

_And then, to Dean’s horror, he starts crying._

_Dean hesitates in the doorway a moment, John’s orders still on his mind, but his brother is crying. He steps into the engine room, their old, familiar, now off-limits haven, and goes to Sam’s side. “Sammy?” He slides down the wall to sit next to his brother, arms pressed together in the narrow space. “’M sorry, Sammy.”_

_He puts an arm around his brother, who resists for a stubborn, angry sixty seconds before leaning into him. Dean resists the prickle behind his own eyes. He’s sixteen, he’s the grown-up here, he will not cry._

_“I miss Bobby,” Sam mumbles, and Dean holds on a little tighter. “I miss Ellen and Jo.”_

_“I know, Sammy.” It was only a few weeks ago that he and Bobby were in this room together, both halfway under the engine and streaked in grease, Bobby swearing up a storm. That he and Sam and Jo were all in here together, playing cards, Jo cleaning them both out in chore trades, Dean insisting that he was letting her do it._

_“They didn’t want us to go,” Sam adds, plaintive. “Did they? It was just Dad they were mad at?”_

_“They’re not mad at us,” Dean assures him._

_Sam looks up at him, face still red and sticky from crying. “Why wouldn’t Jo talk to us, then? She wouldn’t say goodbye.”_

_Dean rubs his brother’s arm. “She was sad about her dad.” More than sad, Dean knows. She’d been taking cues from Ellen. She was furious. But it was a war, Dean hadn’t said to her. Anything could have happened, it isn’t my dad’s fault. But he still remembers his mom, definitely remembers what John had been like when she’d died and the people she risked her life for hadn’t saved her. He can’t be mad at Jo._

_He can’t be mad at anybody, it seems._

_“I miss them too,” he admits instead._

_Sam rests his head against Dean’s chest, like he’s little again, and Dad is off on a job and Bobby is still asleep and it’s just the two of them keeping each other safe in Bobby’s creaky old house. Or like he’s eight again and just realized that going off to war wasn’t like any other job, that Dad might never come back, and Dean and Impala were all he had left. “I want to go home.” He sounds little, too._

_Dean doesn’t trust himself to respond to that. He’s afraid that if he tells the truth what comes out will be a betrayal of his father, but he can’t find the strength at the moment to lie and be the grown-up. It takes him five solid minutes to say anything. “Impala’s home.” That, at least, has always been true. Even grounded for five years the ship had never been abandoned, never been empty. It doesn’t matter where she is, Dean tells himself, as long as they’ve still got her. She’s a ship, not meant to stay in one place that long anyway. He lets his head drop to rest on top of Sam’s, arm still around his shoulders, and neither of them says another word._

_They sit like that for an hour before John finds them, and Sam won’t let Dean claim that hiding in the engine room was his idea._

 

***

 

Another day, another awful memory. It’s barely been more than a week and Dean’s already losing track. It doesn’t help that the day Sam left for college has just passed. (That seemed to go worse for Dean than for Sam. He supposes for Sam it’s not entirely a bad memory.) Dean just feels tired all the time.

He knows it’s noticeable, too. He’s kind of beyond caring that his crew can see it, god knows they’ve seen him worse--though god also knows Dean is _never_ letting it get that bad again. Kevin being able to see it feels like a failure, though. As if he hadn’t failed him enough. Linda (more sympathetic than he deserves) being able to see it feels like punishment. He couldn’t stop Sam from knowing if he tried, and Sam knowing feels like the worst failure of all.

Dean hasn’t known Castiel long or well enough to have failed him, so his picking up on Dean flagging just makes Dean angry.

Because of course he picks up on it, with those eyes that seem to pick up on everything except social convention. He doesn’t approach Dean about it, doesn’t ask if he’s all right anymore after he got snapped at the first time, doesn’t change expression in the slightest when he sees Dean wilt just a little over his morning coffee. He doesn’t react, the way everyone else does in subtle, careful ways. He just observes. Dean fucking hates it almost more than he hates nightmares.

 

***

 

He feels even worse when he wakes up the next morning and remembers what day it is.

 

***

 

Dean refuses to feel bad about the whole thing. He must have looked incredibly wrecked for Castiel to break his observant silence and ask if he was feeling well, but seriously, the guy should have known better by now. Even _Benny_ had been leaving him alone.

Of course, Benny knew exactly what was going on. Castiel, on the other hand... _You don’t know_ , Dean told him--truthfully!-- _and you don’t care_.

Charlie would say he could have controlled his tone, though. And maybe not added the bit where he told Castiel to fuck off.

Dean drops his head onto his knees. He hasn’t been this much of a mess about this anniversary in years.

The smuggling compartment is his last resort, as far as bolt-holes go, because it’s a much more awkward fit for a six-foot adult than it was for a couple of scrawny boys; there’s room for his legs but the wall slopes inward against his back and he has to hunch. But he can’t bring _this_ to Sam. And the compartment’s been an effective hiding place so far. No one would think to look for him here (except maybe Jo, if she remembered their childhood hide-and-seek tournaments), and the quiet dark asks nothing of him.

This lasts about forty minutes, during which Dean moves all of three times, before a set of footsteps stops outside the grating. Dean’s not really paying attention to it until the grating creaks, squeals, and is moved aside.

“You left it slightly out of frame.”

Dean is really not in the mood to talk to Castiel right now, or possibly ever, but he owes him for the shouting earlier. “Had to be able to get back out again.”

Castiel doesn’t reply, which is unnerving.

He just stays crouched there for a moment, during which Dean refuses to turn his head to look at him even though the feeling of being watched is making his face prickle. Then he drops to all fours to crawl in, drags the grating mostly shut, and settles down facing Dean. The compartment is closed and dark again and now there’s _another_ six-foot adult crammed in here and Dean goes tense as a piano wire. He catches the fact that Castiel’s sitting deliberately out of arm’s reach, folded up so as not to block Dean’s path to the exit, and manages to stop himself from snarling at him for the invasion. He can make out Castiel’s eyes glinting at him in the sliver of light from the cargo bay.

“I would like to know why you were angry at me earlier.”

This guy doesn’t know when to leave well enough _alone_. “What, everyone else hasn’t given you the scoop?”

“I gathered,” Castiel responds slowly, “that the cause was private.”

Dean can’t even be surprised that Castiel’s interpretation of _it’s private_ is _go straight to the source and interrogate him_. “Well, it is,” he says, and that’s the last hint Castiel’s getting.

Castiel just says “All right,” so it seems to have gotten through to him.

But then he doesn’t leave.

He seems perfectly happy to just sit there, breathing quietly, not saying a word. Dean does the same. He should know better than to get into a contest of patience because he is _always_ going to lose, but it’s funny--even though he can still feel Castiel’s eyes on his face, he doesn’t feel like he’s expecting anything. He’s not waiting for Dean to say something. He’s just sitting.

Maybe that’s why Dean does eventually say something. He’s not sure how much time passes before he speaks. “My dad died today.”

No reply but the slightest rustle of shifting cloth. Dude’s still wearing that ridiculous long coat.

“This was, like, four years ago. It’s not usually a big deal anymore. But the day of is kinda rough.” Not to mention the memory of what came before, of Sam’s absence, of what came after. Dean clears his throat. “So, it wasn’t you, I’m just having a shitty day.”

He uses his words this time. “I see.”

Dean knows he doesn’t, though, and that shouldn’t be a reason to keep going but it is. “It wasn’t you before that either, I’ve been having a shitty several months.” He pauses to consider. “Well, it was you a little bit. You kind of weird me out, man.”

And he thought _Castiel_ didn’t know when to leave well enough alone.

The guy doesn’t seem bothered, though, he just nods like it makes total sense that Dean finds him bizarre. “I’ve been told I don’t have the best...people skills.” Dean can hear the air quotes he’d be making if he could move his arms without knocking the grating over.

“I’m supposed to be good with those,” he huffs, “but I haven’t been doing so great lately.” Dean can’t tell if Castiel catches the implicit apology, which is the closest he’s going to get, but they do lapse back into unweighted silence.

An uncounted number of minutes pass before Castiel says, “It used to be this bad every day.” It isn’t a question.

Dean should maybe feel offended, but he’s a little tired for that and hey, maybe he is just that easy to read. He just snorts. “Benny could tell you stories.”

“He wouldn’t talk about you behind your back.” Castiel still doesn’t seem to have grown a sense of humor.

“Go to Jo, then,” Dean tells him. “Or Charlie. They totally would.”

“About something this important?”

He’s so freaking serious. “Well, they weren’t there for that part, so no. Jo knew me when I was a kid, so she’s got all the embarrassing stories. I only met Charlie after Benny...and somehow, she’s still got embarrassing stories.” Dean smiles self-deprecatingly, though he’s not sure how clearly Castiel can see it. “Meg and Gabe came after that, so I dunno about them.”

“They probably have blackmail material,” Castiel says, completely straight-faced, and Dean actually laughs. It seems to surprise both of them.

“They probably do.” He sighs. “Can never get rid of them now.”

“I doubt they would leave,” Castiel says, and Dean thinks he can see his eyes crinkle in a smile. Just the barest upward twitch of lips. “This ship is home.”

And that is when Dean feels tears sting the corners of his eyes, even as he smiles back, but it’s dim enough in the smuggling compartment to get away with neither of them mentioning it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that finally happened. I am not entirely happy with this chapter but at least it is done! And so is part 3. I now have the awkward problem of having the second half of part 4 written and no idea how to get there, and nothing but outline after that; so there shall probably not be a regular posting schedule for a while. Hopefully the cessation of hostilities is a good place to put things on hold. :)


End file.
